Page 65 of My Bloody Valentine

28

ADRIAN

Iwatch Maya’s face as Reynolds berates the young server. Her fingers curl into fists, and her knuckles are white with rage. She understands now—she sees the calculated malice in his actions. This isn’t a bad day or a picky customer. This is systematic destruction.

“The veal is overcooked,” Reynolds announces, though I can see from here the meat is a perfect medium rare. “Take it back. And tell that incompetent chef to start over.”

The server’s lip trembles as she collects his barely touched plate. Maya shuffles slightly in her chair beside me, clenching her jaw.

“I knew he was cruel from the reviews, but seeing it...” She takes a slow breath. “The way he’s breaking them down piece by piece.”

I slide my hand over hers, feeling the tension in her muscles. “Tell me what you see.”

“He times his complaints perfectly, waiting until the kitchen is in full dinner rush before sending dishes back. Targeting the newest staff members to erode their confidence.” Maya’s voice drops lower. “I heard about Bella Cucina last week. Threegenerations of chefs are gone because of him. Their marinara sauce was legendary.”

Reynolds snaps his fingers at another server, demanding a fresh glass of wine. His previous one sits nearly full and is barely touched.

“He’s not here to eat,” Maya continues. “He’s here to inflict pain. To watch them squirm while he holds their livelihoods hostage.”

I squeeze her hand gently. “And what do you think he deserves?”

Maya turns to me. “Show me how to make him suffer.”

A smile curves my lips. She truly understands now. Reynolds will make an excellent first lesson.

I watch Reynolds toss his credit card on the table with a dismissive flick. The server’s shoulders slump as she processes his payment. No tip, of course.

“Time to go, Maya.” I settle our bill, leaving enough extra to cover what Reynolds should have tipped.

Outside, the night air carries the first hints of winter. Maya shivers, though not from the cold. I can detect the anger still simmering beneath her controlled exterior.

I hail a taxi, and Maya slides in first. The moment I settle beside her, she’s in my arms, her mouth finding mine with desperate need. Her fingers dig into my shoulders as she claims my lips.

“You’re sure about this?” I breathe against her mouth.

She bites my lower lip in response. “I want to watch him suffer.”

The taxi weaves through Chicago’s streets as Maya’s hands roam beneath my jacket. Her touch sets my blood on fire. I grip her hip, pulling her closer, tasting the lingering wine on her tongue. The driver’s eyes stay fixed on the road, but I catch him adjusting his mirror.

Maya’s breath comes in short gasps as my fingers trace patterns on her thigh. “Adrian...” How she says my name—half plea, half warning—makes me want to take her right here.

When we arrive at the boutique, we can barely keep our hands off each other long enough to get inside. But there’s work to be done. The special chocolates I prepared earlier wait in the temperature-controlled case—truffles infused with our unique ingredients.

Maya helps me arrange the restraints on the tasting chair, her movements precise and purposeful. She tests each buckle, ensuring they’re secure but won’t leave marks. Smart girl.

“The small knife or the medium?” She holds up two options from my collection.

“Small. More control.” I adjust the lighting, creating the perfect ambiance for our special guest.

Maya moves through the space like she’s always belonged here, laying out tools with careful consideration. Her fingers linger on the silk when she places the blindfold on the table.

“Everything needs to be perfect,” she says, straightening a barely out-of-alignment chair.

I pull her against me, breathing in her scent. “It will be. You’re a natural at this.”

I watch Reynolds strut into my boutique like he owns it, his ego filling the intimate space. Maya greets him with just enough deference and professional interest to lull him into a false sense of importance. “Mr. Reynolds, thank you for accepting our invitation. I’ve followed your work for years.” Maya’s voice carries just the right note of admiration.

“Of course, of course.” He waves his hand dismissively. “After that Bella Cucina review, I imagine some are less eager to see me.”

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